Croft POV
The call came not on my private line, but through the main switchboard of Croft Industries, a blatant breach of protocol designed to irritate me. My assistant’s voice was strained. “Mr. Croft, your… wife… is on line one. She insists it is urgent.”
I felt a familiar cold distaste. Precious. The name was an irony. I picked up the receiver. “This is a secured line, Precious. You know the procedure.”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about procedure, you decrepit old vulture! I saw the pictures! All over the internet! You and that… that little ant! That gold-digging social climber you dug out of the gutter!” she screamed.
I leaned back in my chair, the worn leather creaking. I said nothing. Silence was the most effective provocation.
“Are you listening to me?” she screamed. “You’ve ma
